


Not Yet

by trash4ficsaboutlurv



Category: Luke Cage (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Resolved Sexual Tension, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-30 18:54:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8545192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trash4ficsaboutlurv/pseuds/trash4ficsaboutlurv
Summary: Luke returns from clearing his name





	

"So about that coffee," Claire said, smirking up at Luke. She slid her hands up under his hoodie, appreciating the warmth of his skin in the November morning chill. He cupped her shoulders in his massive hands and smiled, and Claire's heart leapt a little.

She hadn't seen him in months, not since he eluded his would-be captors and went off to clear his name. He had said he couldn't contact Claire while he was on the run, but she hadn't fully grasped how much she cared about him until that long absence, that long silence. He hadn't told her to wait for him, not even tacitly. And yet...no one had even come close to matching the instant connection she'd had with Luke. She'd seen Matt since then, but their interaction had only affirmed Claire's confidence in her decision not to fall for him. He was as much a martyr and a brooder as he'd ever been and try as he might to be there for Claire -- to ask how she had been, to check on her emotional well-being in the aftermath of leaving her job -- Claire could see all his other worries weighed too heavily on his mind for him to be a good friend. She'd asked after Foggy and Kate? Carol? Karen! but Matt's face had darkened and he'd shaken his head. So apparently, he couldn't be a good friend to them either. Shucks, Claire wasn't all that special after all.

She pushed thoughts of Matt away. She was here with Luke, standing at the corner of 122nd Street, a slight but very cold breeze ruffling her hair, the sky a hard, distant blue, the sun weak and white, car horns going off, and children shrieking by. This was her New York, this was her man (almost -- nothing had been decided), this was her morning.

"Should we get coffee first?" Luke asked, his voice as rich as a Colombian blend, "or should I catch you up on my exploits?"

Claire pressed more fully into him, not entirely to be a seductress. It really was very, very cold out here. "Well, since you called me, I take it you're in no immediate danger of being apprehended and jailed?"

"Correct," Luke said. He raised an eyebrow and brought his hand up to cup her chin. "You haven't been sleeping well," he noticed.

Claire looked down, her forehead just grazing the softness of his covered chest. "I've been a little busy lately," she admitted.

Luke nodded toward the diner on the opposite corner. "I want to hear about it," he said. He said it sincerely, gravely, like Claire's comings and goings were as important as state secrets, as if the reason she had dark circles under her eyes could match the intensity of whatever he had been through clearing his name. "So coffee has to wait."

"Let it brew a little longer," he murmured.

Claire rolled her eyes. "You are so corny."

Luke shrugged. "Let's get you in some heat. Your lips are turning blue."

Right on cue, Claire shivered, and Luke, like a knight in fleecy cotton, unzipped his hoodie and draped it over her shoulders. His trapped body heat was like a balm around her and Claire didn't even think to protest that he might be cold. She pushed her hands through the voluminous sleeves and closed her eyes the better to savor the warmth, the clean smell of of him, this feeling of being treasured and taken care of. Lord knows Claire didn't need anyone to take care of her. She was self-sufficient, smart, and stubborn, and she had a fair bit of pride in her own ability to carry on. But the way Luke looked at her, the way he saw when she was tired and cold, the way he wanted to know about what she'd been up to, the way he told her to be careful and not as some perfunctory statement before you sent the soldiers into battle, the way he did all that without doubting or underestimating her. If someone asked her to describe romance, she'd try to explain all the subtleties of Luke taking off his hoodie and giving it to her.

He tapped her chin with his knuckle and wrapped an arm around her. "Come on," he said and Claire felt his deep voice reverberate through her, the bass all lovely and shiver-inducing. The good kind of shivering.

They walked across the street and Luke pushed the door open for her. She went inside and tucked herself into a booth by the window, so she could sit in the thin sunlight. Luke sat down across from her. He was absolutely gorgeous, she realized, shocked by his beauty all over again. His skin was such a velvety shade of brown, dark as a vanilla bean. The curves and angles of his face were perfectly balanced, his lips full enough that it was hard not to imagine what a good kisser he must be. Divested of his hoodie, he wore a white V-neck T-shirt that clung to the fullness of his chest and shoulders, popped against the darkness of his skin. He was stunning. And according to Misty, who Claire had truly befriended in the last few months, he was not just a pretty face.

"You're looking at me like I'm the last slice of cake on the platter," he joked.

Claire bit her lip, realizing that her lips were parted, her eyelids lowered.

Luke laughed, a rich sound. He put his hand on the table palm up and Claire placed her hand in his. Claire tried to control the lust in her eyes, but she doubted she was doing an admirable job of it.

"Maybe just a glass of orange juice for each of us," Luke said.

"Huh?" Claire said. She glanced up, surprised to see a waitress there -- a spunky-looking brown-skinned girl with bubblegum pink box braids and earrings all along the rims of both her ears.

"Not here for a full, involved breakfast, are we?" Luke asked, the corners of his mouth curled.

Claire smiled. "No, we are not. Orange juice is fine," she told the waitress -- Dany on her nametag. Dany nodded and walked away.

"Why haven't you been sleeping?" Luke asked. His thumb swept over the thin skin of her wrist. "What has you so busy?"

"I've taken on some projects," she said. "Helping Misty with some community work against Mariah, taking a self-defense class, working with Malcolm and some others to create a support network of sorts for the special-powered people in the city -- maybe, something for the supporters themselves. All very nebulous, but it's kept me up."

Luke smiled at her like she'd just revealed that she hung the sun, moon, and stars in the sky.

"What?" she asked.

Luke was now massaging her palm between his two hands. "I'm just thinking there isn't another person half as good as you."

Claire rolled her eyes and pulled her hand away. He let her go, but held her with his admiring gaze.

"Stop looking at me like that," she said.

"I can't help it." He smiled.

Claire pushed her hands through her hair and looked around for their waitress. "It's just orange juice," she said quietly. "You wouldn't think it'd take long at all."

"In a hurry?" Luke asked. "For something else?"

"You certainly didn't lose any confidence while you were gone," Claire observed, arching an eyebrow at him.

He shrugged. "Had to hold on to something, Claire."

Her heart wiggled a little to hear her name in his mouth. She looked down at the Formica. "What's the short version of how you spent the last five months?" she asked.

The waitress arrived then with their glasses of orange juice and a half-full carafe. After Dany left, Luke took a long sip. "Bobby sent me a file," he said slowly, "and then it was a matter of dodging the wrong people while I tried to get the right people to see it."

"And the right people believed you?" Claire asked.

"They did but --"

"But what?" Claire asked. The passing look of trepidation on Luke's face -- while brief -- was hard to miss if you were watching him as closely as Claire was.

"But it's not a happily ever after," he sighed. "Not yet."

"Can I help?" Claire asked. She reached for him and he intwined their fingers again.

Luke stared at their hands. "I don't know. Maybe. 'll tell you more later." He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles, soft chaste kisses to each.

Claire didn't mean to draw so many comparisons between Luke and Matt, she really didn't. It wasn't fair to Matt, to be honest, and she wanted to like Luke on his own merits, which she was pretty sure she did. But she couldn't help thinking that Matt wouldn't have let her in like Luke just had, even that small amount. Matt would want to do it all on his own. No, he'd need to do it on his own because he didn't think anyone else could handle it or because he wanted to corner the market on unnecessary suffering. And maybe he'd want Claire as an emotional and literal healer in the aftermath, but he wouldn't want to share with her. Not until he was lying on his (or her) sofa, literally leaking his life out of a dozen stab wounds. Not until any step he took would be a grenade in the peace of Claire's life. This thing with Luke -- this openness, this equality, this attention -- it was new and different and good.

"Okay," she said. "I guess we've caught up then."

"I guess so," Luke said. He sipped his orange juice and Claire followed suit. They barely broke eye contact as they finished their glasses.

"Delicious," Claire murmured.

"My wallet's in my coat," Luke said.

Claire reached for her purse instead and pulled out a tenner. "That should cover tip, too, right?" she asked. She was already scooting out of the booth seat.

"I think it might be a 150% tip," Luke said, motioning to the waitress who was sitting at the bar on her phone.

"She did a really good job," Claire said. She pushed Luke's hoodie sleeves up over her hands where they had fallen. She wasn't even going to pretend that Luke could have it back. It smelled and felt too good to relinquish. He had bulletproof skin. That probably meant that the cold didn't hurt him too bad, right?

"Your place or mine?" Luke asked.

"Is your place still yours what with the arrest and escape?"

"Good point."

"Let's worry about that later," she said to him before he could go down that rabbit hole. "My place is fine." She grabbed his hand and led them out of the diner.

They hailed a cab because Claire was feeling frivolous and impatient.

"I think only teenagers make out in cabs," Luke murmured in the back of the taxi as he ran his the pads of his fingers across Claire's palm.

"We should show some restraint," she agreed, not meaning a word of it.

"Your hands are cold," he said. He brought one up to his mouth and kissed her open palm, the scratch of his facial hair in sharp contrast with the softness of his lips. He breathed hot air across her life line down across her wrist. She sighed and looked out the window as Harlem turned into the Upper West Side. If she watched Luke's ministrations, if she didn't distract herself with reading the names of restaurants and stores as they raced down Broadway, she'd lose what little composure she had. Claire hadn't ever considered her hands an erogenous zone, but just this little bit of contact had her breathless. Luke pushed her sleeve up to press kisses up to the crook of her elbow, adding teeth to the mix with little nips where her veins branched off at the base of her palm. Goosebumps followed the path of Luke's mouth and Claire's skin felt deliciously oversensitive. She couldn't help thinking that if he could get her this wound up kissing her arm -- her goddamn arm! which had never been a place requiring much sexual attention -- how effective would he be elsewhere. She swallowed thickly as he returned to the back of her hand, kissing her reverently, each press of his lips more like a religious rite than foreplay.

The Upper West Side turned to Columbus Circle turned to Midtown West turned to Hells Kitchen proper. The cab driver turned on to Claire's street.

"I need my hand to pay," Claire murmured.

"I need your hand to kiss," Luke rejoined. She felt his smile against her skin.

"You are so corny," she said. It was the only way to hide how easily he charmed her.

The stairs to Claire's apartment felt extraordinarily steep when they got out of the cab, stretching before her like an Olympian challenge, but Luke's hand on the small of her back kept her moving. Soon, his touch promised. Soon.

"Do you want the tour?" Claire asked after she let them in. She hadn't cleaned up at all. Luke had texted her this morning after months of silence that he was in the city, up by Pop's, and she had thrown on clothes pell-mell before racing to the train. She was a reasonably tidy person, but there were a few dishes on the coffee table, a half empty bottle of wine on an end table, some magazines scattered across the sofa.

"If you've seen one New York apartment," Luke said and trailed off.

Claire clicked the lock on her door and turned to face him. She placed her hands around his waist. "I was hoping you'd say that," she admitted. She tilted her head up to him and he looked down at her with that same look from before -- the one that said she was strong and precious and infinite and rare.

"I missed you," he said simply.

"I missed you, too."

"And I know you had to live your life while I was away. You don't owe me anything because of things we said a few months ago after some high adrenaline moments together."

Claire chuckled. "Luke, if I didn't want you here right now..."

He nodded. "I know." He brushed a kiss to her brow. "I keep thinking you're going to turn into mist in my arms," he admitted. "That always happened when I dreamed about getting back here, back home. Are you real, Claire? Am I really here with you?"

Claire slid her hand under his t-shirt. "Let me prove it," she said.

They were unhurried in their lovemaking, slow and deliberate in all things. Luke worshipped her from head to toe and she returned the adoration, kiss for kiss, stroke for stroke. When he entered her, tears ran from her eyes.

"What's wrong?" Luke asked, balanced above her.

She shook her head. "This is good," she said. "This is good."

He looked down at her, concern blazing, and she couldn't believe that she loved this corny, unbreakable man. She'd fallen in love with enough people to know when it was happening, to know when she'd gone over the edge. And here she was, crying because this was real, because she'd managed to fall in love with him in a few days and her love hadn't withered or worn away in the ensuing time apart. She pulled him to her, buried her face in his neck and rocked her hips upward. He groaned against her skin, so she did it again, holding him to her, their skin slick with sweat, their gasps commingling as he pushed into her. She sighed his name, running her hands along his smooth, hard back, urging him on.

"Faster," she panted, the hot coil in the pit of her stomach twisting tighter and hotter. "Luke," she gasped. She so rarely came just from having a man inside her, but god she was close. Her toes curled, her back arched, her desperately sensitive nipples dragged across the roughness of Luke's chest.

"You feel so good," he groaned. "Claire, are you -- ?"

"Yes," she sighed. "Yes, keep going. Yes. Yes." She was glad she couldn't hurt him as her nails dragged down his back, the ecstasy twisting up inside of her so tight it didn't seem possible. And then, and then, bliss, release, everything coming undone in one euphoric burst. And Luke went over the edge with her, saying her name, saying, "You're perfect. You're perfect." Shuddering, shuddering before they fell apart, panting on their backs.

When Claire had caught her breath a little, she turned on her side and kissed Luke's shoulder. "Was that real to you?" she asked.

He smiled, the crescent moon of his teeth bright and beautiful. "I don't know," he said. "We might have to prove it again."

Claire wiggled her way under his arm, happy to be skin to skin with him, happy that he was okay, that she was okay, that this was right. "It's not happily ever after yet?" she murmured.

Luke was quiet for a few minutes, long enough that Claire thought he might have fallen asleep. She closed her eyes and pressed her forehead to his chest. She could hear his heart beating slow and even and in that way that no one really has any control over, she could feel her own pulse, her own breath trying to sync up with his, the patient thud of it pulling her down into sleepiness. Post-coital naps were very, very high on Claire's list of favorite things.

"Not yet," Luke finally said, the tectonic base of his voice vibrating through her, rousing her ever so slightly. "But we're on our way." He squeezed her tight and kissed the crown of her head.

"We," Claire murmured, but then the gorgeous heaviness took her and she fell asleep, thinking Not yet, but soon.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote a thing that isn't Samsteve in the slightest. Whaddup!


End file.
